


Old Roots Run Deep

by leoandlancer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandlancer/pseuds/leoandlancer
Summary: Jesse McCree was smart enough to know that to wish for the impossible wouldn't change anything, but he couldn't keep the want from taking root. Hanzo Shimada learned the hard way that wanting something doesn't mean you get to keep it, even if it feels right, even if it'll die without you.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 23
Kudos: 157





	Old Roots Run Deep

**Author's Note:**

> [This awesome comic](https://twitter.com/8bluandorange8/status/1079170080422985729) by [BlueandOrange](https://twitter.com/8bluandorange8) introduced me to the Hanahaki trope and I'll be forever grateful to them. I'll be honest with you all I've been picking at this fic ever since. (It's not that long don't worry)  
I hope you enjoy <3

Hanzo never thought he would meet a man he wished he couldn’t kill, but that was before he met Jesse McCree. At the time, he was acting as his father's aid, standing in his capacity as a scion of the Shimada clan. Blackwatch had sent their commander, a tall man with big brown eyes and the gravity of a natural leader, and a young lieutenant with an articulate plan that was very nearly the best Hanzo had ever heard.

Hanzo had watched the lieutenant with ferocious attention. This was his counterpoint, his direct rival. If this ‘deal’ was just a trap, if this plan didn’t work, if anything went wrong, this was the man Hanzo would have to kill. It was this lieutenant, in his big hat and winged belt buckled and easy smile that would try to kill Hanzo. 

The plan did work, it worked almost exactly as the Blackwatch lieutenant had laid it out, and the joint action Blackwatch had proposed to the Shimada clan was a success. A surprisingly lucrative success. It had been easy. It had been fun. 

Hanzo gave his counterpoint a mark of grudging respect.

"Good to work with you," The lieutenant tipped his hat as they said their goodbyes.

Hanzo simply bowed back. The lieutenant had offered his hand but Hanzo had ignored it. He said, "Safe travels, lieutenant." because_ now get out _was probably a little too rude for the occasion

His counterpoint just grinned, his arms crossed over his chest. There was a tattoo on the inside of his left arm. "Call me McCree,"

On their way home, Hanzo’s father had favoured Hanzo by asking for his opinion. Hanzo tried to keep to the easy answer, tried not to say too much or leave anything out. He wasn’t sure what he was walking this line for, but it felt important. Whatever he said, his father supposed they could allow Blackwatch another audience, if asked again. Hanzo let his breath out. 

Lieutenant McCree grinned when Hanzo came alone to their next meeting, and he tipped his hat again. The Commander of Blackwatch had a new scar on his cheek and bowed politely to Hanzo when he arrived.

"Shall we wait for Lord Shimada?"

"My father sent me as his scion," Hanzo said without feeling. "I act in his stead."

He had held his breath then, waiting for Blackwatch to back out, or call Hanzo's bluff, waiting to laugh in his face because Lord Shimada was in a coma and Hanzo had come on his own. He needed to protect the appearance of normality.

Commander Reyes just shrugged. "Very well. McCree?"

McCree spoke calm and easy and presented a new plan, a new project, a means of robbing information and contracts from a courier service. It would compromise the information between one dangerous family and another equally dangerous organization.

"We get that information, that's all we need," McCree said, and Hanzo was listening carefully, practically leaning into the words because he wanted something, anything that would allow him to turn this venture down flat. He was acting without anyone’s permission to be here, he didn’t need anymore opportunity for disaster.

"But once we get that, we're in a position to fabricate new orders, information, contracts, and I figured that might come in handy for you and your clan."

Hanzo blinked. Damn.

"Very well," Hanzo said. "However, I cannot allocate any additional resources. I will act on this with you alone."

"Wouldn't want it any other way," Lieutenant McCree grinned at him.

The robbery went perfectly, and Hanzo left Blackwatch on grudging good terms and with several new forged contracts binding money and power where he wanted them. He came home to find his father conscious, and proud of his work.

The third time they'd met, Lieutenant McCree had been on his own, and when Hanzo and his father had arrived, McCree looked around, and Hanzo watched his face light up in a grin.

"Howdy," he tipped his hat.

The plan was a simple one this time, of equal benefit to Blackwatch and the Shimada clan, and Hanzo was confident that this joint engagement would be just as easy and profitable as the last two.

He was jerked up short when his father said, "The Shimada clan declines. However, we are grateful for your interest in our abilities."

"Father, "Hanzo heard himself speak, and snapped his mouth shut, corrected his posture, looked down. He couldn’t even try to look at Lieutenant McCree standing with his head a little on one side, a worried little crease between his brows.

Hanzo expected McCree to argue, try and persuade Lord Shimada, try to leverage Hanzo's support... He was braced for that, already trying to imagine what he could say to make him stop.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Shimada." Lieutenant McCree said simply. He bowed politely, then seemed to hesitate, opened his mouth, shut it again, and bowed to Hanzo instead of speaking.

Lieutenant McCree had always referred to him as Shimada, never by his name, and it occurred to Hanzo that McCree might not know it.

"Hanzo," he blurted. His father stiffed, only slightly, but Hanzo noticed.

He suppressed a flinch, bit his tongue, corrected his posture until his shoulders ached.

But McCree gave the ghost of a smile and his eyes lit up again, and Hanzo didn't care so much after that.

The fourth time they met, Hanzo managed to time it so his father was too busy managing Genji to attend the meetup. He went alone, and when the commander of Blackwatch met him without McCree, Hanzo listened in mute disgust to the plan the commander laid out for his consideration.

"That's all up to McCree," Commander Reyes said, wrapping up. "This is all his plan. Also, he said..."

Hanzo stared at him, immobile, frozen by the initial shock that McCree hadn’t come. But he listened carefully as Commander Reyes went on.

"Hell," the commander said. "McCree said to tell you thanks again for last time, and that he hopes you can join us on this."

"Will your lieutenant be working this heist?"

"Course," Commander Reyes shrugged. "It's all his plan. He'd be here now except he's so sick I forced him to stay with the doc. He'll be right when we launch this."

"Then tell me the plan again."

Commander Reyes patiently laid it all out again for him, and this time, Hanzo listened.

"Very well."

Lieutenant McCree was paler than Hanzo remembered and had a cough that troubled him only occasionally.

"Sorry I wasn't at the meeting," McCree whispered to Hanzo. "Reyes heard me coughing up a storm one night and lost his damn mind. Doc freaked out too. I would have been there to tell you the plan myself otherwise. Reyes never does my genius credit."

Hanzo watched McCree grin at him in the dim light under the window of a butler's pantry. They had five minutes before Reyes cut the power and they could begin to move.

"What was it?"

McCree looked around at him, head tipped to one side. "What?”

Hanzo frowned at him. "Why did the doctor freak out?"

McCree shut his mouth and smiled at Hanzo, and the silence went a beat too long.

Because he hadn't expected Hanzo to ask. He hadn't thought up a good answer.

"Nothing much. Found out I haven't got my shots as a baby. I've been walking around a living plague magnet all this time. It's a miracle I never got polio."

It might not be a lie, but McCree was a good liar; Hanzo had cause to watch him. But all the same, Hanzo watched as McCree turned away from him, and coughed, very quietly.

The house went dark all at once and Hanzo and McCree exploded up into activity.

This time, the plan only barely worked. McCree was weaker than he should have been, slower and lost his balance once or twice. If Hanzo hadn't been watching him, he wouldn't have made it to their airlift. Hanzo was watching him though, and he'd gone first, then hung out of the helicopter and reached back for McCree.

Which meant it was Hanzo, not Blackwatch’s commander, who saw McCree stumble, and fall. Hanzo didn’t stop, didn’t think, just lunged back out of the helicopter as it began to lift off, and dropped back down to the widow’s walk. McCree was heavier than he looked. The helicopter couldn’t wait and McCree jerked away from Hanzo and Hanzo had to hold on to him, his hands white-knuckled in the coarse fabric of McCree’s shirt and the edges of his armour. He half dragged, half carried McCree down the roof and hoisted him up into the belly of the helicopter by main strength born of training as much as panic. 

There was a moment when Hanzo thought he couldn’t keep McCree. Thought that if the helicopter lifted off any faster, McCree would fall. 

There was a moment when Hanzo gave a rough reckoning to their odds of survival when they were discovered on the roof. Made the reckoning for both of them because if McCree wasn’t making it to the helicopter, Hanzo wasn’t leaving without him.

McCree had simply hung on to him, both his hands shaking.

"You shouldn't have been on this mission," Hanzo snarled, panting on the floor of the copter a few frantic moments later.

"Damn," McCree coughed again, a wracking, full-bodied cough that shook him like a toy. He settled, gasping for a few moments before managing to speak again. "Damn I think you might be right. I wasn't this bad yesterday I swear it’s not bad, I..."

There was a noise in the darkness that suddenly made Hanzo realize he was still holding McCree. They lay together on the floor of the copter, dazed and gasping, and clinging to one another. McCree's hands were still shaking where they had locked, fisted over Hanzo's chest.

Commander Reyes was standing over them, looking down at McCree with his arms crossed and his face dark in the shadows.

"He's not fit for active duty," Hanzo sat up, suddenly furious. "Is it common to be so careless with the health of Blackwatch personnel on assignment?"

Reyes made a thoughtful little noise and stared down at them until McCree reluctantly looked up, and met his commander’s glare.

"Sorry boss," McCree said, he was still gasping, he couldn't catch his breath.

"I tried to tell you," Reyes said, his voice low.

As Hanzo opened his mouth to snap out a response, a demand, something, Reyes slipped into the cockpit, and Hanzo was left with McCree still fighting for breath in his arms.

The fifth time Hanzo should have gotten to meet McCree, it was just Commander Reyes at the meeting spot again, who greeted Hanzo and Lord Shimada with polite reserve.

"This mission will not be a large one it will only require two people. As commander of Blackwatch, I will go, and we request one person from the Shimada clan. My lieutenant," Reyes shot a glance at Hanzo. "Will, unfortunately, be unable to give practical assistance on this mission."

"Please state the plan you would like to propose." Lord Shimada said.

Hanzo could hear the wheeze in his father's voice, but he doubted if Reyes could.

The plan was smaller than Hanzo was used to hearing from Blackwatch, and it wouldn't be difficult, but he had trouble paying any attention.

"Can we count on the assistance of the Shimada clan?"

Hanzo waited, and his father gave a small tilt to his head. He hadn't been able to hear all of what Reyes had said, and his lip reading was slower in English. Hanzo tapped twice on the floor, his father wore thin-soled shoes these days, and the vibrations carried well.

"No,” Lord Shimada gave Hanzo's verdict with calm civility.

Weeks went by. Hanzo waited, listened for word about Blackwatch in general of course, it was his duty to keep track of the group, and it's members. When he finally did get news, he made an executive decision and broke into a hospital in Spain. 

It wasn't intentional. But he had been in the area and someone had told him that there was a Blackwatch lieutenant in hospital in the area, about to have surgery. The informant had given the information as no more than a piece of side chatter, a little to give Hanzo some measure of the climate in the area. There were some Blackwatch people over from Gibraltar. They were camped at the hospital and there was an increase of security of all sorts—

"What surgery?" Hanzo demanded.

His informant was brought up short. "What?"

"The Blackwatch lieutenant in hospital," Hanzo snapped. "What surgery is going to be performed?"

"I don't," The informant, a remarkably reliable travel journalist, stared at him then rallied. "I don't know it's not... Overwatch has one of their doctors looking at him and I mean they're so secretive..."

"Why is it not happening on Gibraltar?" Hanzo said, trying to gain some information, any at all.

"Oh its," the journalist was flustered by the sudden interest Hanzo had shown in what had been a bland, and honestly, redundant parade of information. This laser focus was unnerving. "I heard it's delicate? Whatever it is. Risky, you know, needed more docs on hand and more... I don't know. Equipment? It's not like getting your tonsils out, the guy's pretty fucked up."

"How so," Hanzo knew he was going too far, demanding too much. Already the rate of pay for this little chat was rocketing out of all rational bounds. The journalist was watching him with the dawning joy of a traveller who sees several months of comfortable living making itself available.

"I don't know, but I talked to one of the nurses and they said that he's in a state and they're not allowed in to see him much, only a few people let in to see him, he's in quarantine and..."

Hanzo let the rest of the conversation by in a blur.

He broke into the hospital shortly before 3 am and in the end, had to resort to cutting through a wall to get to McCree's section of the Hospital. He shook drywall dust from his hair and walked with confidence through the secure wing of the hospital, past the dozing guard, and found McCree. His hospital room wasn't locked, and that, as far as Hanzo could see, was a gross lapse of security.

McCree lay in the dark with an oxygen mask strapped to his face, but nothing to show what ailed him beyond that. There was a small jungle of flowers piled up on either side of the bed, and a few at the bed foot, indistinguishable in the dark but the air was cool and smelled sweet. There was nothing to show that he was in any sort of hermetic quarantine. It might not even be as bad as his informant had said. 

Hanzo reached out to… touch McCree maybe; wake him, he wasn’t sure, but stopped with a jerk when McCree flinched, started awake, and managed to produce his six-shooter and a bright eyed gaze of malevolent attention in less than a second.

"Oh," McCree said, as Hanzo stood stock still and frozen one hand still outstretched. McCree pulled the oxygen mask from off his face and held it aside. "Uhh… Howdy?"

Hanzo stayed perfectly still. The six-shooter was still aimed directly at his centre mass and whatever was wrong with McCree, Hanzo had a growing certainty it wouldn’t diminish his aim.

"You ain't..." McCree gave a little snort of a laugh for some reason. "You ain't here to kill me right?"

"No," Hanzo scowled.

"Right," McCree snickered, but it turned into a cough. He tucked the six-shooter away into a fold of his bedding. "Sorry," He gasped between coughs, "Just, on the off chance, though I should ask... since you broke in is all."

"Why do you assume that," Hanzo said, ruffled.

McCree reached out, one hand cupped over his mouth as he coughed, and pulled a chain on his bedside lamp. A warm golden glow lit the room, and Hanzo blinked.

The jungle of flowers was larger than he had assumed. They were piled inelegantly in vases and empty jars and crammed into every inch of flat space around him. Flower petals were scattered over the side of McCree's bed. The soft light made the flower petals radiant sprays of colour all around McCree. 

McCree himself was chalky pale in the warm light of the lamp, thin and oddly breathless

"I know for a fact the doc wouldn't let you near me even if she had to kill you herself," McCree said, recovering from his coughing fit. He brought his hand away from his mouth tucked in a loose fist and laid it down on the bed amid a drift of flower petals. He carefully shifted back in bed to sit up against the headboard.

McCree could barely speak, he had to force each word out, and even the little movement needed to sit up was clearly painful.

"I'm not here to hurt—" Hanzo began, but then trailed off because McCree just barked out another laugh that became a cough.

"Oh yeah, sure thing. But she won’t see it like that—" McCree said settling himself with a hand pressed over his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" Hanzo cut him off.

"What?" McCree looked up.

There were bruise dark marks under McCree's eyes, and blood on his lip. His wrists looked horribly thin and fragile. The faded t-shirt he wore was thin and hung off his shoulders.

"You're dying," Hanzo said. He realized that in a way he couldn't have if he hadn't seen McCree. If news of Blackwatch's Lieutenant had reached him, Hanzo would never have believed that the man who had made such brilliant plans, who had been so cheerfully ruthless in their execution and worked seamlessly with Hanzo could ever be so diminished.

"Yeah," McCree was looking up at Hanzo with his huge brown eyes fever-bright. "Yeah, that's what they keep telling me."

"How long?"

"Since... Shoot, since before that last mission with you. You said it yourself at the time, I shouldn't have been on it. But I didn't believe it could be... made any worse just for being around..." He stopped himself, gasping to catch his breath after speaking.

Hanzo felt strangely off-balance, he felt robbed. He had expected this lieutenant to be a fixed point in his life. Assumed that as Hanzo grew up, as the Shimada clan allowed his father to retire and he took up lordship, that McCree would take Blackwatch. He'd assumed that even if McCree wasn't an ally, he'd be a known quantity, someone who Hanzo could work alongside, if not with. Someone Hanzo knew the measure of.

Hanzo had assumed McCree would be around if Hanzo needed him. But McCree was dying. And Hanzo felt robbed_. _

"What surgery are they going to do?" Hanzo said abruptly into the silence.

"How'd you know about that?" McCree cocked his head a little. He hadn't stopped smiling, one little corner of his mouth was constantly tipped up. He looked oddly amused to find Hanzo standing in his hospital room. Confused, but grateful in some way.

But it didn't explain why McCree could smile while he looked so sad, so small.

"I have people watching Blackwatch," Hanzo said, downright. "Haven't you been watching my clan?"

McCree gave another bark of laughter, and then slapped a hand to his mouth to cover another coughing fit. "No," McCree gasped, snorting with laughter and still coughing. "No Reyes... called back our detail watching Shimadas. He thought it might help."

Help what? Hanzo thought, annoyed. "What surgery," He said instead, insisting on the topic.

"They keep trying to explain the particulars to me and I keep tuning them out," McCree put his head back against the wall, his hand coming away from his mouth and back to the flower petals scattered at his bedside. "It's a surgery Hanzo, they're going to cut something out of me."

Hanzo didn't know why the thought troubled him so much. "When?" 

"Tomorrow morning," McCree spoke quietly, his hoarse voice dragging each word out as though over gravel. “A few hours from right now. You’re just in time to be in at the death if it goes bad.” 

Hanzo stiffened, then stopped scowling because he had no idea why the idea disgusted him so.

McCree just looked steadily back at him, fever-bright eyes and the little crooked smile and he looked so, so sad.

Hopeless, Hanzo thought, breaking eye contact and staring at the flowers on his bedside table. Bleak, exhausted hopelessness. McCree looked like a man who'd been beaten past endurance and knew there was worse to come.

"So many flowers," Hanzo said, needing the break from his thoughts, from the silence in the room. But it was true and somewhat baffling. All the flowers made a mound bigger than a sheep on both of McCree's bedside tables.

He expected McCree to smirk, talk of his admirers, pass them off somehow. But McCree just looked down and gave a little shrug. He toyed one-handed with the petals that had spilled off the table and onto his bedside.

"Say," McCree said after a pause that went on far too long, "Hanzo..."

Hanzo didn't realize he'd taken a step forward until he had his hand on the coverlet of the bed, fingers trailing in flower petals. He made a fist and set his face again, corrected his posture.

"What?"

McCree looked up at him, glanced down at Hanzo’s clenched fist and back up, and something inside him broke, very quietly. The brown eyes went oddly flat. McCree absently rubbed his chest with a fist.

"It's nothing," McCree said, his glassy eyes slipped off Hanzo, down to his hand, at the flower petals in his fingers. "Nothing, it's... hell, by definition it's got nothing to do with you.”

"No," Hanzo snapped. Without thinking, his body broke the disciplined stillness he had forced himself to keep, and he reached out. “Tell me. I have to—”

Hanzo’s hand closed over McCree's.

McCree looked back up at him, wide-eyed and suddenly, painfully, open-faced. Hanzo stopped talking because he'd never seen anguish before. Never expected to see it on McCree who always looked so calm, even now, when he was about to die.

"Let go of my hand," McCree said a moment later, his voice was low and his eyes were bright and he was fighting to force his expression back to its mask of amiable tolerance.

Hanzo felt ashamed of himself. Felt keenly that in some way, he’d brutalized this man.

"I didn't mean—" He began stiffly but got no further as the door of McCree's ward slammed open. 

The room became suddenly, violently active. Commander Reyes, a blonde woman in white, and a tall man Hanzo recognized as Commander of Overwatch all slammed their way into the room in tight formation.

Hanzo instantly put his hands where they could see them, stepped smartly away from McCree, and froze.

All three of the new arrivals were armed, and Hanzo was left staring into the breathtakingly unlovely end of two single handed-shotguns, a pistol, and a heavy pulse rifle. All weapons were held in expert grips by people who looked fully prepared to make Genji the sole scion of the Shimada Clan.

Good luck to him too.

"Shimada Hanzo?" Reyes recognized him first, and the tension to the twin shotguns he bore lessened just a little.

"Now, everyone calm down," McCree said, leaning forward with one hand pressed to his chest, the other held between Hanzo and the three in the doorway. "We're just talking, it's fine, I'm fine."

"This," the woman in white suddenly bristled, her blonde hair almost visibly rising with her emotion. "This is Hanzo? _That _Hanzo? The Shimada Scion?" She pointed her pistol one-handed at Hanzo and stabbed a finger at McCree. "I told you you're not to think of this boy and you let him in for a _ chat_? I thought you were intent on surviving your current ailment not dying the night before I can save you! It's a delicate procedure!! Are you trying to make it more difficult? Are you trying to make your recovery that much more troublesome!? Jesse, I told you what the risks are!"

"I know, I know, Angela, I just..." McCree had both hands up in conciliation.

Hanzo stayed very still as the pistol was kept pinned to his centre body mass with the worrying precision of a surgeon’s steady hands. Behind the doctor, Commander Reyes was having a muttered conversation with his Overwatch counterpart.

“This will only make your operation more difficult and your recovery more unlikely. I told you the risks!” The doctor went on, her voice rising, her pistol still perfectly steady, “I am responsible for your care but you are responsible for your wellbeing and I—”

“McCree had nothing to do with this,” Hanzo drove centuries of cumulative noble authority into the words as he cut the doctor off. “I came without his knowledge.”

“Or mine,” the doctor’s eyes were steely as they snapped back to him. “I know you’re perfectly ignorant of this situation but your behaviour could have compromised him beyond recovery. You could have triggered a reaction in the state of the—” 

“Doc,” McCree’s voice was loud with panic as he sat upright. “I didn’t—” He broke off coughing. “Don’t tell him.” 

A muscle twitched in the side of the doctor’s jaw, and she slowly lowered the pistol. 

“You haven’t told him?” 

McCree was coughing, mostly breathless now, and shook his head. 

“Jack,” the doctor said, and moved to McCree’s side. 

Commander Jack Morrison turned from his conversation to watch Hanzo, the heavy pulse rifle held in an insolently casual manner. 

Hanzo didn’t move, didn’t speak, and wondered if he was going to be killed, or ransomed, before the end of the night. He tried to keep his eyes on Commander Morrison, but his gaze kept snapping back to the bed, back to McCree. The doctor eased her patient back down, put his mask back in place, felt his chest and listened to his breathing. They spoke softly together, her voice quiet and bell-clear, McCree’s voice was shattered.

“Well?” Commander Reyes was watching the doctor work on McCree with his arms crossed. 

“We wait outside,” the doctor said, levelling a gaze at Hanzo that should have left his chared outline smoking on the back wall. “You say what you came for, and we will show you out.”

Hanzo corrected his posture, managed to keep his eyes on the doctor this time, found he was already as stiffly correct as his spine was possible to be, and settled for a nod. 

Commander Morrison turned from Hanzo, and the doctor followed him out. Commander Reyes stayed where he was, still looking at McCree. 

“Well, Ingrate?” He spoke in the low voice Hanzo had heard him use only on missions, and only when they were going to go bad. Hanzo had never heard Reyes call McCree any kind of nickname.

“It’s ok,” McCree’s voice hissed out, he held both hands over his chest. “I gotta do this.” 

Commander Reyes nodded to his lieutenant and didn’t even look at Hanzo. 

The door shut again, and Hanzo and McCree were alone. 

Hanzo slowly lowered his hands. 

McCree pulled his mask down a little.

“They’re just a little, upset with me, you might have noticed,” McCree spoke between breaths, his eyes closed, hands pressed over his chest, focusing on some internal equilibrium of pain. “I didn’t tell them when I started… When I started showing symptoms. I hid it and now they say it’s too far.” 

“What is it,” Hanzo said. He knew he should get closer to McCree, knew somehow that would make things worse, more dangerous for him if Reyes of Commander Morrison or that dreaded doctor came back. “You lied to me before. What are you sick with?” 

“Ha,” McCree opened his eyes. He was drooping slightly where he sat propped up on pillows at his bed head. Chalk white skin and bloody lips and his eyes were bright in their bruise dark sockets. Hanzo could see the edges of his skull through the skin. The thought of McCree being dead felt like a gnawing darkness at the edge of his thoughts. 

McCree didn’t answer Hanzo though. 

In the quiet, Hanzo began listening to each of McCree’s breaths, painful and laboured and carefully counted out. His hand trailed through flower petals as he edged closer to the bed again, closer to McCree until they were almost touching. Hanzo couldn’t look away. 

McCree was looking at the petals or Hanzo’s hand, and the moment Hanzo picked a petal up, McCree’s breath hitched. 

It was a white petal, with dark red streaks, sadly crumpled and a little torn and Hanzo, stupid in this room without a word to say, stared at the flower arrangements on McCree’s bedside table, looking for where it came from.

“I didn’t believe the doc when she told me at first,” McCree said quietly. He was watching Hanzo. “I thought for sure there was some other explanation but it was…” 

“What flower is this from?” Hanzo cut McCree off. 

There was something urgent, sickening in his gut about the question and he didn’t quite know why. His eyes darted around the crowded flowers around McCree's bed, his heart suddenly thudding hard against his ribs.  McCree had so many flowers, a dozen or more different types, cheap bundles and expensive ones, from orchids to daisies, and Hanzo’s gaze was skipping faster and faster from flower to flower. None matched this petal in his hand. 

“McCree?” 

He looked down to find McCree looking down at the scattering of petals over his bed. His hands were clenched in fists. 

“I told them I wouldn’t say anything to you,” McCree said, forcing the words out around his careful, painful breaths. “I said it was impossible. I know your position. And hell, it’s not like I don’t know mine. It was me being a damn fool is all. Hanzo I swear, I never meant to trouble you with this.” 

Hanzo stared at the petal in his hand. Not streaked with red. Blood. 

“Hanahaki,” he said the word, and dread hit him like a hammer blow. 

Impossible. 

_ Impossible _that McCree would fall in love and die from it. Impossible that he would be unable to tell whoever had caused it to cure himself. He was the best tactician, the smartest man Hanzo had met outside his family. It was simply impossible. 

"Who could you possibly..." Hanzo's voice came out in a snarl well ahead of his thoughts, already spinning horribly onwards.

He didn't need to ask. 

Flowers to hide the coughed out petals in plain sight. Withdrawing from missions. Retreating from watching the Shimada clan. The private ward. An in house surgeon. Guarded by the commander of Overwatch. They had been careful. 

Hanzo had never been meant to know. Specifically Hanzo.

McCree knew better. 

Hanahaki was widely considered folklore, a misunderstood medical tale that was altered in the telling until what had probably been nothing more than tuberculosis became a wildly sentimental ailment. Knowledge of it survived thanks to the hoards of media that made hay over the very idea of a person pining away to death, devoured from the inside out by beauty and flowers and long unrequited love. The popular stories went that anyone who died of Hanahaki lived on in the flowers they left behind. Anyone who chose to slice the plants out of themselves would never be able to love again, even if their old beloved confessed to them with a full heart. The survivors of Hanahaki could feel nothing for them. They would be sundered forever.

It was pathetic. It was barely considered a real ailment by medical consensus. It was a misdiagnosis. 

If it was real, it meant that McCree’s lungs were torn to pieces because something was growing in his chest, feeding on him, driving roots into his bloodstream and filling his lungs with flowers.

It was impossible McCree had Hanahaki. 

Hanzo tried to speak because he needed to demand McCree deal with this, but something cold was twisting in his gut and he barely stopped himself from stuttering. 

_ I’m killing him._ The thought dropped very quietly through Hanzo left him hollow and cold and ringing with the echo._ I would never have known if he died. _

“I know it’s just me being a damn fool,” McCree’s voice was whisper soft, he didn’t look at Hanzo. “I told the Doc I’d take the operation after that last mission. Hell, nearly was my last mission. You had to save me.”

The words registered and Hanzo had to take several seconds to process them. 

A very careful surgeon was going to cut him open, lay his lungs bare, and cut the growth out of him, vine by vine and root by root, flower by flower sliced from living tissue and thrown to an incinerator somewhere in the hospital basement. 

“No,” Hanzo snapped. 

He moved before he could stop himself, before he knew what he was doing, and was brought up sharply by the muzzle of McCree’s six-shooter pointedly digging into his ribs, holding him back. 

McCree was looking up at him with his bright eyes half-wild, his mouth was a little open and their faces were less than a foot apart. 

Hanzo had pushed his hand over McCree’s, over his chest.

They stayed perfectly still like that. The moment stretched with McCree’s forced breath and the six-shooter in the narrow space between them. The gun had come out the instant Hanzo had moved a little too fast, closed on McCree too quick to be anything but violent. It was just stupidity though. Hanzo was stupid.

“I’m dying Hanzo," McCree's voice was slow, broken. "You can see that.” 

“Do not undergo the operation,” Hanzo didn’t move, couldn’t think, was frozen where he stood, pushing his hand into McCree’s, holding it against McCree’s chest. He had a wild impulse to forbid McCree to undergo the operation. As if McCree was under his authority. As if that would fix anything.

“Hanzo,” McCree’s voice was so soft. “Hanzo, you’re asking me to die for you.” 

Dread like a hammer blow in his gut again. Hanzo slipped his fingers between McCree’s, then slowly, tucked his fingers in, until he held McCree’s hand, until the backs of his knuckles pressed against McCree’s chest, over his heart. 

“No, I’m not.” 

He felt it when McCree’s heart skipped slightly. 

“Hanzo,” McCree slowly drew the six-shooter back. “What exactly are you saying?” 

“I,” Hanzo curled his fingers a little more tightly, digging his nails into McCree’s palm. “I know it’s impossible,” He said the words even though they cost him, even though they hurt. “But if it’s Hanahaki, please, I don’t want you to feel nothing for...” 

He wasn’t _permitted _this. 

His father’s disgusted voice in his head. His elder’s judgement already ringing in his ears. He was a scion of the most powerful family in a thousand years. The thought finally caught up with Hanzo’s wildly spinning imagination, his grieving sense of worthless, wasted sentimentality. 

This was something Genji would think was a good idea. Hanzo had a responsibility. 

“Do what you must,” Hanzo dropped his gaze, stiffened and drew away, tugging his hand back, just as McCree closed his fingers to hold onto him. He was too weak though, and Hanzo pulled away. “As you said, it has nothing to do with me.” 

“Right,” McCree whispered. “Alright.” 

His left hand made a loose, empty fist over his chest. 

Hanzo bowed, perfectly correct, perfectly formal, and he couldn’t have done less for anything. He couldn’t do more. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Hanzo kept his head down an extra beat, and then stood, and turned without looking at McCree, his heart hammering against his ribs. 

McCree whispered something, but he was so quiet, and Hanzo’s world was still tilting so wildly, he didn’t catch it, didn't listen. 

He just opened the door to the hall and met Commander Reyes and McCree’s doctor. Both looked around at Hanzo, and he watched their expressions drop, and their shoulders sag. He felt a fresh kick of guilt and dread. They had been hoping for… 

What? Hanzo to give up his family? His duty? He was more than just himself, he was a scion, an heir to a thousand years of history and duty. He couldn’t have things that didn’t fit the life laid out for him. Even if he might want them. Even if they would die without him.

“This way,” Commander Reyes tipped his head to Hanzo. 

The doctor passed him without saying a word, her jaw set. 

Hanzo expected the Commander of Blackwatch to snarl curses at him, hit him, kill him and dump his body in the morgue. But Reyes quietly walked Hanzo out through the hospital and held a back door open for him when they reached the ground floor. 

Hanzo would have rather taken a beating than the commander's silent resignation. He bowed to him, his mind on autopilot. And stepped outside. 

“He won’t die,” The words were so unexpected it took a moment for Hanzo to realize he’d spoken. “Will he?” 

“Hell if I know,” the commander leaned against the open door, shoving a hand over his head to pull his hat off. “He was pretty bad when we caught him. He was trying to keep it a secret. You know that’s one of the principal ways that doctors can tell if it’s real or not? The denial? McCree swore up and down he was fine, it was a fluke, he didn’t believe in some goddamn dumb magic illness. He was fine. Shit... He’s a hell of a liar.” 

The commander had all his weight against the door, had a hand and his hat cupped over his eyes. Hanzo had never seen him like this. 

The commander dragged his hat down his face and didn’t look at Hanzo as he went on. He just turned the brim of his hat around and around in his hands. 

“He’s pretty bad Hanzo. He said it was impossible, and doc says that made it worse. He was ready to die without saying a damn thing. Not to me, not to anyone. The doc and I talked him into the surgery.” 

Hanzo felt his fists clench, felt his jaw set and anger that he didn’t deserve boiled up in his throat.

“Hanzo,” Commander Reyes said patiently. “It would have been better if you’d never known. Hell, now you do know, nothing’s changed. Might make doc’s job a bit easier tomorrow. They say a rejection can shock a victim into either dying or killing the Hanahaki. McCree was dead against it though.” 

Reyes seemed to realize his choice of words, and for an instant, Hanzo saw the genuine aching worry on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo had never apologized so much in his life. “McCree was right. It is impossible.” 

“You are a Shimada,” Reyes pulled his hat back on. “And my lieutenant is one smart kid.” 

“Please tell me what happens,” Hanzo blurted. He swayed on his feet when he tried to correct his posture. 

Reyes stood up from the door, letting it close as he took a step towards Hanzo and reached out as though to offer his support. “Sit down before you fall down.” 

“No,” Hanzo snapped. He was a scion of the Shimada clan. Even if he did back away from Reyes’ offered hand. Even if he did feel sick and sad and hollowed out with helpless guilt and useless anger. Even if his heart was hammering and his eyes stung and his face was hot. He stood tall and glared up at Reyes, his jaw set. “Tell me what happens to McCree. Now that I am aware of it, it does concern me.” 

“Fine,” Reyes muttered. “Although I know your spies could just tell you.” 

“I’m withdrawing them,” Hanzo said, reckless and stupid and he needed to break something right now, even if it was his own network. “Tonight. Immediately. I will not infringe upon this matter any further.” 

Hanzo tried to go on, force out more words, orders or plans or assurances. But his mouth wasn’t working. He had no words for this. He had nothing. His breath caught as he stared up at Commander Reyes, eyes wide, breath panic-short. 

Reyes stood just outside of striking distance, and slowly shook his head.

“Hell, what a goddamn shame,” he said after a long pause. “It’ll be a long procedure. A series of them. A week or more and after that Doc will have to watch him to make sure he makes it through without a relapse. Maybe a month, maybe longer. But alright, I’ll get in touch somehow.” 

Hanzo found he still couldn’t speak. Found his throat hot and aching and his nails biting into his palms. He dropped into a stiff, formal bow, and that was simple, even if the gesture didn’t come naturally to him. A scion isn’t bound to incline his head for much. 

Then he turned, and walked quietly into the warm city night, and lost himself in the bustle and hurry as the sun rose and life started again. And Hanzo felt like he’d been the one with flowers cut from his chest, felt like he would never feel anything again. 

His father died a week after he returned home. Hanzo became Lord Shimada, and the duty and privilege of leading the clan fell to him. 

Genji became the biggest problem in his life, and a week after the funeral, Hanzo killed his little brother. 

Whatever had been left inside him went cold, and hard, and then shattered, and Hanzo sat alone and scared in the dark of his castle, and sobbed his sorry heart out. 

He didn’t hear from Reyes. He left his sword where Genji died and took a bow when he abandoned his entire family, left everyone who relied on him, and abdicated his life. 

If he’d just been paying attention to his family this wouldn’t have happened. If he had focused on what mattered he would have found another way. If he hadn’t spent so much time wrapped up in what turned out to be nothing, nothing at all, things would be different.

Because McCree had probably died anyway. 

It became a painful little chapter among too many others as the years went on. Something that had happened to someone else. To someone he had been before he knew better. It had been one pathetic little thing that had mattered so much, so briefly. It happened a long time ago, and too far behind him to hurt anymore, and Hanzo kept running.

And McCree had certainly died.

Hanzo still had nightmares sometimes. McCree lying chalk white with the bruise dark circles under his eyes, weak and pained and looking up at Hanzo. 

_You’re asking me to die for you. _

But he didn’t dwell on that. He could get to that guilt in time. He had to atone for his brother’s death first. 

So when his brother turned up alive and lethal and totally changed and still somehow, inescapably, Genji, Hanzo’s world dropped out from under him for the second time in his life. The offer to choose a side, the thinly veiled insinuation that Overwatch was rising stopped Hanzo’s drifting, ghost-like existence. Genji was alive, kind of, and Genji had a place, and he offered one to Hanzo.

And Blackwatch was long gone. Long gone and Commander Reyes and his lieutenant with it. 

So it didn’t matter, there would be no other familiar faces.

It wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. 

He could stand by his brother again. Surely. Surely, that was all that mattered. 

“Well, howdy.” 

Hanzo stared at Jesse McCree in the hot Mediterranean sunshine. Jesse McCree with a steel left arm and holes in every garment he wore and taller and broader than Hanzo remembered him. Jesse McCree in the same hat, the same little tilt to his mouth, the same sun stained skin and dark eyes and casual posture. 

Hanzo couldn’t speak. Dread hit his gut in a hammer blow and he lost his voice and for a moment, he was a terrified teenager looking a dying boy and realizing he was helpless. Then abruptly he was back, and this was real, and he was a terrified adult looking at a hale man in his thirties and Hanzo was horribly, stupidly, helpless. 

Hanahaki survivors do not,_ could not _feel anything for the former object of their admiration. 

Hanzo felt the knowledge howl down through him, leaving him cold, empty, leaving pain in his chest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak or move or think. The ground seemed to pitch under his feet.

McCree tipped his hat into the flat silence. 

“It’s McCree, Jesse McCree. Guess it’s been a while but we did two or three Blackwatch missions together.” He gave a wry little smile and his teeth showed. “I must not have made much of an impression on you. But I’m glad you’re here. Genji’s spent the week talking most of the folks here around to offering you a place. Hope you like it.” 

And McCree nodded amiably to Hanzo and left him standing stock still and struck dumb in the hot landing platform of Watchpoint Gibraltar.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally meant to post this in October but October has happened so here we are! I hope you enjoyed!  
Next update will be for a fic called [Fool's Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189714) it's about Hanzo being a dragon and hiring McCree to help him kill a bug but also falling in love while being really alarmed that McCree could also kill him. They work on it. Update Nov 18!


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